


what comes is better than what came before

by wintrs



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post 2020 Turkish GP, Praise Kink, sort of? they're just. this is nice. they're nice to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintrs/pseuds/wintrs
Summary: Even when he ought to be celebrating, finally on the podium again after such a long stretch, Sebastian is here: trying to sear appreciation into Charles's skin as if Charles is something worthwhile and precious, as if Charles is good enough to deserve it. Seb is so, so nice to him, always.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 114





	what comes is better than what came before

**Author's Note:**

> title from i found a reason by cat power - thank you ao3 user babypapaya for the suggestion and for reading this over before posting!

Charles’s head is throbbing, hands blistered and aching from his grip on the steering wheel, but as always Seb is more than enough to distract him from his own pain. All that matters is the flutter in his stomach as he watches Seb walk out and take his place on the podium, self-assured and smiling as if he’d never left in the first place. Honest. 

Charles brushes off the worries about how he’s doing from the team—this is Seb’s day first, and anyway, he’s fine—and media passes in a blur as he waits for the debrief. The mood around Ferrari is lifted, but it’s nothing like Charles had expected—nothing like Charles himself gets lately. It’s bittersweet all the way down, the mechanics and engineers on both sides of the garage clinging onto the last vestige of the last five years with the sort of wry smile Charles gets when he thinks about his time at Sauber. There’s nothing particularly celebratory about it, not even from Seb based on what he’s heard of the radio.

Seb. Charles hears rather than sees him approach, the well-wishers in every step of Seb’s path ensuring that Charles won’t be caught off guard lingering in the garage. Seb rounds the corner, and Charles steps away from the counter instinctively, hands clasping together in front of him as Seb is received by the mechanics. Charles resists the urge to force his way into the hugs and back pats, but no desire to talk to Seb is enough to allow him to intrude on that moment. There’s no place for him there, and besides—who knows if Seb even wants to talk to him.

But they’re going to the same place, the debrief, and anyway—it’s Seb. Seb is so nice to him, always.

“Good job, today,” Seb says quietly. He’s overtired and subdued but _glowing,_ too _._

“I should be saying that to you,” Charles says. “I fucked up the last lap—not that you don’t deserve it, obviously I’m so happy for you Seb, but—”

“If I tell you to shut up with that talk for today, would you?” Seb asks. 

Charles’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Of course.”

“Good,” Seb says. “Let’s go to the debrief, then, and later…” he hesitates. “Would you like to come to my room?”

“Of course,” Charles repeats, no floundering this time. Sebastian has never—it’s always Charles who asks, always, even when it takes some encouragement to get him to admit it. 

Seb smiles the same wry smile as everyone else. “Good.”

—

Charles chews the back of his pen, toes in and out of his sneakers several times, cracks the knuckles of his fingers, and everything else he can think of to keep him from going insane in the debrief. It’s nice, it’s fine—they had a good result, after all, the best result of the season—but Charles is far too distracted to give any valuable input anyway. The mix of Seb’s offer with his own reflection on his brainless mistakes this race is enough to keep him fidgeting the entire time.

Seb doesn’t watch him—he never does, which may be precisely why Charles finds him so interesting—but he does catch him by the waist after the meeting, casual enough to look normal but firm enough to be anything but. “See you around seven?”

They’d hashed this out in the hallway already, but Seb is so considerate, reconfirming. “Sounds good,” Charles says.

Seb nods and walks off, and Charles watches him go, almost wishing he’d objected and asked Seb to push him into a closet right here and now. He probably would have, if Charles had asked—but Charles can be good. He needs to be, especially on days like today.

Charles walks back to the garage. He may as well help clean up a little if he’s going to be too jittery to think, and besides—seven is still a couple of long, lonely hours away.

— 

When Charles knocks, Seb takes a moment to answer. He opens the door wearing his robe, freshly-showered, and when he gestures Charles inside, Charles prides himself on his nonchalant entrance. Seb is going to know how he’s feeling in about five minutes anyway if he doesn’t already, but Charles likes to pretend to have a modicum of privacy once in a while. He doesn’t even have to pretend with most people, but for some reason Seb has always been able to read him like an open book. 

“Are you tired?” Seb asks. “You can start getting undressed.”

“As much as normal,” Charles replies, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He has to focus on being honest, thinking his answers over before giving them, because Seb won’t let up on him if he doesn’t. He’s one of the only men Charles has ever met that isn’t satisfied with Charles telling him what he wants to hear.

“I’m glad,” Seb says. “Did you shower already?”

“Yes, right when I got back—and I already prepared, so, however you want. You can do whatever you want,” Charles says. He’s down to just his boxers now, and with anyone else he would be unselfconscious in the way his dick is already tenting the front, but Seb makes him want to cover every indecent part of himself even in his desperation.

Seb quirks a brow, and Charles ignores the clenching pressure in his chest as he exposes himself entirely to Sebastian’s gaze.

“Lie on your back for me,” Sebastian says, undoing the tie of his robe as Charles complies immediately. He crawls onto the bed after Charles, a hand running from calf to thigh on either side as he settles between Charles’s legs. 

Charles swallows down his eagerness as best he can. “Are you tired?” 

Sebastian hums and drums his fingers on Charles’s thighs. “I am, but it’s a good tired. Honestly, I thought I would fall asleep standing up in the shower.”

“We can sleep, if you want,” Charles says, immediately cringing because that’s too—he’s so—”I mean, I can leave and let you sleep. I don’t mind.”

“You would mind,” Sebastian chuckles. “Though I don’t know why you want to spend so much time with an old man like me in the first place.”

Charles’s nose scrunches. “You’re not _old_ , of course I want to—” Charles breaks off into a gasp as Seb runs one of his hands down the inside of Charles’s thigh. 

“Tell you what,” Seb says. He takes his hands off Charles completely, and Charles has to stop himself from whining at the loss, but the sight of Seb finally taking his robe all the way off is worth it. “I’m going to fuck you, but I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Charles says, breath caught in his throat.

“It’s my day, so you have to behave,” Seb says. “Listen and behave. Okay?”

“Yes,” Charles says. “I will. I’ll be good.”

“Good,” Seb says. He prods at Charles’s hole with a finger and pushes in, making Charles groan more with anticipation than anything, before pulling his hand away to reach into the the nightstand for lube. 

When he settles back between Charles’s thighs, slicking himself up and tossing the lube to the side, Charles can’t help the way his legs splay wider, body contorted basically in half as he holds in the soft whines he would be making if they wouldn’t be unbearably embarrassing.

“You did well today,” Seb says, lining himself up. He pushes all the way in in one go, and Charles yelps with the burn of it—he never does enough and Seb _knows_ that, knows how much he likes it to hurt at first. “I’m proud of you.”

Charles’s stomach twists. “No, I’m—I fucked up, I’m proud of you. You drove brilliantly.”

“P4 is great,” Seb says, rucking Charles up by the hips as he thrusts a few more slow thrusts, probably to give Charles time to adjust. “Better than that car deserves, certainly.”

“But I should’ve done better,” Charles says, and he feels it like the stone in his gut that it is. “I could’ve done—I should’ve been—”

“Are you listening right now?” Seb asks, stilling, and Charles gasps.

“I—”

“It's my day, remember? You have to behave,” Seb says. “Okay?”

Charles stares up at Sebastian, eyes wet. “Okay, but I—”

“No buts,” Seb says. He pulls Charles’s legs to wrap around his waist, pressing his fingers more firmly into the bones of Charles’s hips. “Be good.”

Charles swallows hard but nods, huffing out a breath as Seb starts back up again. Seb is good, but nowhere near the best Charles has had—his aim is fair but not great, and he forgets Charles’s cock half the time—and Charles still can’t figure out why he needs this so bad. Why he’d give anything to have Seb looking at him the way he is now, with the single-minded focus that most of them only ever give to the car.

He doesn't forget this time, though—Seb digs his nails into Charles’s hip and reaches for his cock with his other hand, thumbing over the head in time with his thrusts. “You got good points today, for the team and for your standing. Fifth, sixth was it?”

“Fifth,” Charles gasps. “It would’ve been—it would’ve been fourth if I didn’t fuck up.”

Seb presses his nail to Charles’s slit, just lightly, but it’s enough to have Charles hissing and jerking his hips back reflexively. Seb pulls him back in immediately, bearing down and wrapping his hand back around Charles’s dick without waiting for an apology, and Charles wishes he was good enough for Seb to wrap his fingers around his throat instead.

“It won’t matter in five years’ time,” Seb says. “Believe me. When you have your championship, no podium in a losing season will matter.”

“Please,” Charles whines. _When_.

“You’re going to be wonderful, the greatest star we see for some time,” Seb says. “You’re so special, Charles.”

Charles doesn’t know what to do with his hands, what to do with any of that—he screws his eyes shut as his fingernails cut into his palms, resisting the urge to bring them up to his own throat instead. He has to be good, but he feels himself being clawed from inside out, as if Seb has reached somewhere deep inside his chest and physically wrenched him open for observance. He’s all-consumed.

“None of that,” Seb says, taking one of Charles’s hands in both of his own, physically pulling Charles’s fingers back. He wicks away the little half circles of blood with one of his thumbs and leans down, nearly pressing himself against Charles entirely. “Around me, come on.”

Charles wraps his arms around Seb, of course he does, and Seb’s hips pick up. He can’t hold back the soft whines anymore, the noises forced out of him every time Seb moves, but it always ends up like this. Seb is so, so nice to him, even when he’s hurt. Charles just wishes he could take what Seb gives him without crying.

“You’re so good,” Seb says, breathing hot into Charles’s ear, nosing at the side of his face. “You did so well today. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, no,” Charles wrenches out, voice half caught on a sob. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true,” Seb says. “And either way this won’t matter in a few years, a few months even. _Ferrari world champion,_ no?”

“Please,” Charles cries, bordering on a shout. “Don’t, please don’t.”

Sebastian chuckles and kisses Charles, finally, for the first time tonight. Charles wants to let Seb take what he wants but he _can’t_ , too overcome to stop himself from pressing his tongue into Seb’s mouth, begging to be consumed. There’s nothing he despises more than people laughing at him, but with Seb it feels so different. Maybe it’s how desperate he is for Sebastian’s attention, however he can get it; maybe it’s how Seb seems to understand him intrinsically, somehow; or maybe it’s in the way that Seb has never looked at him and seen anything unfixable, nothing past the point of salvation, nothing at all like what Charles sees every time he looks in the mirror.

Seb reaches down to wrap around Charles’s dick again, pumping him once, twice, thrice, before Charles is yelping into his mouth and coming. His entire body is on fire, everywhere Seb is touching him lighting up like an exposed nerve, and all he can do is lie back and take it as Seb pumps into him rhythmlessly in pursuit of his own release. Charles can’t help the way he can’t breathe, chest too tight even to gasp for breath as Seb brings his other hand up to cup the side of Charles’s face.

“You’re _good_ ,” Seb breathes, stilling in Charles as he starts to come down. “Look at me.”

Charles blearily opens his eyes. Seb is deific like this, as he is in everything, and Charles is perpetually unworthy of it.

“I know you don’t believe me, but pretend,” Seb says. “Can you do that?”

A few stray tears leak out of Charles’s eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m proud of you,” Seb says. “You’re going to be great.”

Charles closes his eyes. He can’t—he can’t take this, he’s never been able to. He’s not shy with attention, preening in the face of praise, but it’s supposed to make sense. He deserves the Tifosi at Monza, he deserves the love of the team when he does well, he deserves everything when he’s been good. But with Seb there is no _been_ , no evaluation of his usefulness; good is just something you are or aren’t, and Charles _is_.

“Okay,” Charles whispers. 

Seb thumbs the tears off Charles’s cheekbone. “Good.”

A beat later he’s pulling out, and Charles shudders, stomach dropping even though he knows Seb is only leaving the bed to get a wash cloth. When Seb comes back he wipes Charles down, politely not mentioning the crying or the shivering or any of it, and when he wordlessly gets back into bed to hold Charles from behind Charles knows he doesn’t deserve this. But he can pretend that he does, pretend he’s as good as Sebastian thinks he is—and one day, maybe, he can believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> I had, like, half a dozen points of inspiration I wanted to mention in the notes but I've forgotten most of them by now apart from Sebastian [saying](https://streamable.com/co40xv) Charles is going to be an even greater star than Max, [darkest little paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27500803) by heroics making me think about Charles and deserving, and just generally the wonderful collection of sebchals here on ao3.


End file.
